A boat was lowered, Peter Bottom being in the crew of the boat, and set off with the captain standing just in front of the steersman, his head in constant danger from the handle of the long steering oar, and his stomach from the shaft of the stern oar as it swung. He had to stand, for {46} there was no seat for him. Whaleboats are not designed for carrying passengers. But he kept his feet and his dignity at the same time, and I felt a great admiration for the way in which he did both. I was perched up in the bow, in the harpooner’s place, and found the thigh-hole in the clumsy cleat a great convenience in keeping my own balance and dignity. Then I gazed ahead over the little sunken deck—the “box”—with its length of whale line ready coiled upon it, and imagined myself striking a whale; and I raised my arms in the attitude of a harpooner darting the harpoon, and I hurled the imaginary weapon with tremendous force—all imaginary, of course—and it sunk to the haft in the great body; and I heard a snicker, and looked around, and there was one of the mates—I think it must have been Mr. Wallet, although it was not his boat—grinning at me from his place at the steering oar, and Captain Nelson was smiling. I had already developed a cordial detestation of Mr. Wallet. I remember to this day how red and uncomfortable I got, even to the back of my neck. But I turned about at once, and stood as stiff as a ramrod with the help of the thigh-hole, and I looked ahead and I saw a great volume of black smoke rising from the try-works. Astern of her there was something in the water, with an immense flock of screaming gulls continually rising and settling again like a fountain. It looked much like the sight I have often seen up to a few years ago, off T wharf in Boston, the fishermen packed three deep about the wharf and all the men busy either unloading and weighing their fares of fish, or baiting trawls, and patches of scraps and gurry on the water, and crowds of great gray or black-and-white herring gulls screaming and dipping and elbowing for their share of the vile stuff.